


For Him and His Own

by IsileeGilbert



Series: Keeping Up with the Blacks [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsileeGilbert/pseuds/IsileeGilbert
Summary: Trapped in Azkaban for twelve years, Sirius finds something to get him going.
Series: Keeping Up with the Blacks [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730866
Kudos: 1





	For Him and His Own

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I definitely don't want to own Azkaban haha

[Written for The Houses Competition Sixth Year Round 1 Standard]

House: Ravenclaw

Class: Potions

* * *

**For Him and His Own**

Sirius heard the familiar dull thunk of the guards' heavy leather boots reverberating on the stone corridors upstairs. From his corner, he lifted his head up to squint at the window bars of his cell. It was level with his line of sight, and looking out of it was one of his few sources of entertainment.

The sliver of pale light that shone through them would soon light on a particular slab of stone tinted a dark, dirty brown — dried blood that he had smeared several years earlier. It was the only way to keep track of time in this forsaken hell. The small rotation of guards only made their rounds once a day to shove a thin slice of mouldy bread and a cup of cabbage soup — so diluted it tasted more like water — through the door bars of all the cells.

It was the only time the inmates were ever given a reprieve from the presence of the Dementors; when the foul, despairing creatures would be relegated to another part of the tiny island while the guards roamed the prison. Sirius wondered if they would deign to come down to his cell today.

Bones grinding sharply against each other, he shifted from his previous dog form into a human figure in hopes they would, even though they hadn't done so for the past two days. They had likely forgotten about him again. While most of the building towered high into the stormy clouds above the small island, his cell was on the only level of the prison that was partially buried beneath the ground. Two-thirds of his cell was beneath ground level, and only one tiny barred rectangle cut into the stone allowed some light from outside to stream in. The weather on Azkaban was, more often than not, mostly stormy clouds and torrential rain. Any sound from outside was drowned out by the turbulent waves that constantly crashed against the shore; because of this, Sirius' cell was perpetually damp and slimy in the areas where algae grew.

The guard's footsteps grew closer and with it Sirius' hope for some food. But just as quickly they faded into the distance, and Sirius was left to contend with yet another day of aching hunger pangs. A cold draft rattled through the cells and whistled through the gaps in the fortified tower. He shivered, his jaw aching from the cold. His extremities were numb; as they had been since the day he had been roughly shoved into this cell so long ago.

Suddenly, the tower was alive with a cacophony of noise as the inmates seemed to rouse at the sound of the wind. Rather, it was the presence of the Dementors returning to their post that brought on the added chill and despair. Shrieks echoed within the walls; ringing, shrill, deranged. He had long learnt to tune them out or he would have been screaming right along with them with insanity.

Sirius' belly groaned and ached, and he felt as though it was eating itself inside out. His throat parched, he approached the small window that was near level with the ground outside. He quickly brushed away some of the fresh dirt that coated the stone wall, and bent close to it to lap up the little streams of rainwater flowing down the walls.

After countless years of being forgotten in his cell, he had gotten used to doing this. He no longer cared about the bits of gravel that were caught in his teeth, he was used to the taste of rotting algae on his tongue. This was the only thing he could do to keep himself hydrated. He had realised early on that it was better not to do it in his Animagus form because flavours were heightened, and everything tasted a hundred times worse.

Scratching at his neck where his prisoner tattoo was, he let out a puff of air and peered out the window.

_Huh, it's sunny out_ , Sirius thought, with no small amount of surprise. Days of sun came few and far between to the desolate island and, even then, were still usually partially obscured by clouds all the same.

The clouds broke apart enough for a little ray of warm sunlight to shine through his window. Sirius closed his eyes, feeling the tendrils of warmth gently caress his face. He took a deep breath, savouring the clean smell of wet grass outside amidst the stronger, more tangible taste of sour piss hanging in the air.

He knew he was at risk of having all the Dementors swarm to his cell, but he couldn't help himself in dredging up old memories.

Sunny days always brought him back to days spent lounging on the grass beneath the great oak tree on the grounds of Hogwarts. Sunny days reminded him of better times, more innocent times, spent on boyish pursuits and childish delights. They were meaningful days built on inconsequential moments; enjoying free time post-exams, and being carefree, Prongs by his side flicking his wand lazily to transfigure pebbles into a variety of objects and lobbing them at passing Slytherins who would hiss at him. Moments with Moony on his other side, flat on his back and book in hand, ignoring the blade of grass tickling his nostril; and Wormtail—

No. Not Wormtail – _Pettigrew_.

That rat. That _traitor_.

Sirius bared his teeth and growled deep in his chest. His fists clenched, his nails biting sharply into his palm, drawing a little blood. His pale grey eyes hardened and darkened; a promise of vengeance in their depths for Pettigrew in the afterlife.

Then, Sirius spotted the corner of something lying crumpled in the grass just a little ways from the window. Someone must have thrown it aside; though his window was not very close to the entrance of the prison. His arm, whittled down to just skin and bones after all these years, easily slipped through the window bars. He stretched his arm out and snagged the object.

It was the Daily Prophet! It was drenched, but still, any news of the outside world was better than going back to staring at the walls again. He pulled it carefully toward him, with some difficulty trying to wrangle it between the bars, but he managed it after some effort.

The clouds obscured the sun once again, and Sirius backed into a corner of his cell with the paper. The chill that had been dispelled by the sun, rushed back to gnaw at his bones. He could hear the distinct rattling breath of the Dementors at the door to his cell and, just as easily as it came, the warmth left by memories of happier days dissipated.

He crouched and smoothed the paper against the ground. Delicately he flipped each page, relishing the feeling of touching something other than stone, or algae, or rock-hard mouldy bread. Most of the ink had already streaked, but he drank in every word he could make out; _anything_ to keep his mind going.

His heart leapt when he found that some of the pages toward the middle were clearer; whole passages were legible. His nose pressed to the paper as he tried to read in the low light.

"Arthur Weasley...isn't he Molly's husband? Good girl, good girl; her brothers were the best...won some Galleons, did they? Good on him," Sirius muttered and grinned. "Let's see...more than _five_ children? Aren't you sprightly..." He let out a quick bark of laughter.

He stared at the moving image. It had been so long since he had seen anyone other than the guards of Azkaban. All they did was sneer and spit at him, so he usually kept out of the way until they left. The Weasley's friendly, smiling faces were most welcome, and he drank in the image of the close relationship between the family.

He missed the summer days he spent at the Potter Manor, running barefoot in the sprawling gardens, and chasing James on his broom through the orchards. The days were filled with sunshine and laughter, and the memory of them made his teeth ache with longing for the experience again.

His eyes landed on the youngest boy in the image. Sirius guessed the boy to be about thirteen — the same age his godson would nearly be now, he thought. How his heart ached and clenched to see Harry again. Then, the most minute of movements in the corner of the image caught his attention. A rat was perched on the youngest boy's shoulder. Of course, it _could_ be just any old rat; just a boy's normal pet rat.

But he _knew_ that rat anywhere. He could recognise it from all the years he had watched it, and he snarled with bared teeth.

His eyes, now a slate grey, gleamed with an unholy, manic light. Resolve solidified in his chest like a heavy weight; an immovable force. Little Pettigrew was not dead after all, and Sirius had to have his vengeance. His heart stuttered a beat. If that boy brought that rat to Hogwarts, Harry would have been exposed to danger for longer than Sirius would like. He quickly crouched as he shifted into his Animagus form. As a dog, he could retain his memories, he could keep his mind; he would need to now more than ever.

For a fortnight he bided his time as he searched for ways out, staying in his Animagus form for the most part. He knew for a fact that he definitely couldn't fit through the window bars, so the only way out was through the door to his cell.

Today, the guards had forgotten his daily meal again. Sirius trotted quietly over to the door, cocking his ears to listen. The Dementors were back at their post, lingering around the new inmate — fresh meat. Sirius perked his ears even further and heard the raucous laughter of the guards at the back of the prison tower, likely playing Gobstones again as they sometimes did.

This was it.

He pressed his head into the space between the bars and, with some difficulty, managed to angle his head — just so — and slipped out while wriggling his body. Heart pounding in his ears he trod with light paws, relieved that his shaggy hair helped to muffle the small _click-clacking_ sound of his long nails on the floor. He had already chewed on them to the quick, but it was inevitable that his canine nails would still be long enough to make a sound on the stone floor.

A few Dementors floated above him and he pressed his belly to the ground, crawling forward slowly. They would not see him nor would they sense his emotions; he would be fine. He creeped up the narrow, winding flight of stairs, and past another pair of Dementors, before reaching the small ante-chamber that was connected to the entrance. He peered out the door, his nose sniffing the air before slinking around the corner and keeping close to the walls.

Sirius passed easily through the wards at the entrance, and his heart leapt. It couldn't possibly have been that easy! Then again, his cell didn't have the appropriate anti-Animagi wards cast on it since he was unregistered but, all the same, he was worried he would soon be found. He bounded away from the black building towering above him.

Now, standing in the sand with the water lapping at his paws, he stared out at the sea. He was grinning in a way that he was sure to look terrifying on a dog, and he could feel the spittle dripping from the side of his lips. He was sure the Muggles would think he was a rabid dog.

There was no land visible for kilometres around, but it didn't matter. There was a sudden shout from behind him, but Sirius didn't wait to find out who it was. He dashed off, splashing wildly into the sea and shifted back into his human form as he swam.

Pettigrew was the most important issue at hand, and he would get what was coming for him. Twelve years he had spent in that thrice-damned hell, tormented with thoughts of how he had had a hand in James' and Lily's deaths. No longer would he allow that rat to claim his innocence. Then, he would go see Harry after he was through with Pettigrew; he had to protect his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Words: 2,083
> 
> A/N: Now I feel grimy after writing about Azkaban— ew.


End file.
